BY 



[LFRID W fLSON GIBSON 

"DAIfY BREAD,'.' " FIRES," ' BORDI3RJ.A.N I|3 
AND TH<J«O0GHffARB8," i,Tt;\ 



Mrni Ttnrk 
fE MACMILLAN COMPANY 



All righu rteerved 



BATTLE 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

HEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



BATTLE 



BY 

WILFRID WILSON GIBSON 

AUTHOR OF "DAILY BREAD," " FIRES," "BORDERLANDS 
AND THOROUGHFARES," ETC. 



Nrtu fork 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1915 

All rights reserved 



3. art 






Copyright, 1915 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1915. 



SEP 30 1915 

)CI.A410?79 



TO MY WIFE 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Before Action . 9 

Breakfast 10 

The Bayonet 11 

The Question 12 

The Return 13 

Salvage 14 

Deaf 15 

Mad 16 

Raining 17 

Sport 18 

The Fear .19 

In the Ambulance 20 

Hill-born 21 

The Father 22 

The Reek . . . . • 23 

Nightmare 24 

Comrades 25 

The Lark 26 

The Vow 27 

Mangel-Wurzels 28 

His Father 29 

Hit 30 

[5] 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Back 31 

His Mate 32 

The Dancers 33 

The Joke 34 

Cherries 35 

The Housewife 36 

Victory 37 

The Messages 38 

The Quiet 39 

Between the Lines 41 



[6] 



BATTLE 



BEFORE ACTION 

I sit beside the brazier's glow, 
And, drowsing in the heat, 
I dream of daffodils that blow 
And lambs that frisk and bleat — 

Black lambs that frolic in the snow 
Among the daffodils, 
In a far orchard that I know 
Beneath the Malvern hills. 

Next year the daffodils will blow, 
And lambs will frisk and bleat; 
But I'll not feel the brazier's glow, 
Nor any cold or heat. 



[9] 



BATTLE 



BREAKFAST 

We eat our breakfast lying on our backs, 
Because the shells were screeching overhead. 
I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread 
That Hull United would beat Halifax 
When Jimmy Stainthorpe played full-back 

instead 
Of Billy Bradford. Ginger raised his head 
And cursed, and took the bet; and dropt 

back dead. 
We eat our breakfast lying on our backs, 
Because the shells were screeching overhead. 



10] 



THE BAYONET 



THE BAYONET 

This bloody steel 
Has killed a man. 
I heard him squeal 
As on I ran. 

He watched me come 
With wagging head. 
I pressed it home, 
And he was dead. 

Though clean and clear 
I've wiped the steel, 
I still can hear 
That dying squeal. 



11] 



BATTLE 



THE QUESTION 

I wonder if the old cow died or not. 

Gey bad she was the night I left, and sick. 

Dick reckoned she would mend. He knows a 

lot— 
At least he fancies so himself, does Dick. 

Dick knows a lot. But maybe I did wrong 
To leave the cow to him, and come away. 
Over and over like a silly song 
These words keep bumming in my head all 
day. 

And all I think of, as I face the foe 

And take my lucky chance of being shot, 

Is this — that if I'm hit, I'll never know 

Till Doomsday if the old cow died or not. 

[121 



THE RETURN 



THE RETURN 

He went, and he was gay to go; 
And I smiled on him as he went. 
My son — 'twas well he couldn't know 
My darkest dread, nor what it meant — 

Just what it meant to smile and smile 
And let my son go cheerily — 
My son . . . and wondering all the while 
What stranger would come back to me. 



[131 



BATTLE 



SALVAGE 

So suddenly her life 

Had crashed about that grey old country 

wife, 
Naked she stood, and gazed 
Bewildered, while her home about her blazed, 
New-widowed, and bereft 
Of her five sons, she clung to what was left, 
Still hugging all she'd got — 
A toy gun and a copper coffee-pot. 



[14] 



DEAF 



DEAF 

This day last year I heard the curlew calling 
By Hallypike 

And the clear tinkle of hill-waters falling 
Down slack and syke. 

But now I cannot hear the shrapnel's scream- 
ing, 
The screech of shells: 
And if again I see the blue lough gleaming 
Among the fells 

Unheard of me will be the curlew's calling 
By Hallypike 

And the clear tinkle of hill-waters falling 
Down slack and syke. 



15] 



BATTLE 



MAD 

Neck-deep in mud, 
He mowed and raved- 
He who had braved 
The field of blood— 

And as a lad 
Just out of school 
Yelled: "April fool!" 
And laughed like mad. 



16] 



RAINING 



RAINING 

The night I left my father said: 
"You'll go and do some stupid thing. 
You've no more sense in that fat head 
Than Silly Billy Witterling. 

"Not sense to come in when it rains — 
Not sense enough for that, you've got. 
You'll get a bullet through your brains, 
Before you know, as like as not." 

And now I'm lying in the trench 
And shells and bullets through the night 
Are raining in a steady drench, 
I'm thinking the old man was right. 



[17] 



BATTLE 



SPORT 

And such a morning for cubbing — 
The dew so thick on the grass! 
Two hares are lolloping just out of range 
Scattering the dew as they pass. 

A covey of partridge whirrs overhead 
Scatheless, and gets clean away; 
For it's other and crueller, craftier game 
We're out for and after to-day! 



[18] 



THE FEAR 



THE FEAR 

I do not fear to die 
'Neath the open sky, 
To meet death in the fight 
Face to face, upright. 

But when at last we creep 
In a hole to sleep, 
I tremble, cold with dread, 
Lest I wake up dead. 



[19] 



BATTLE 



IN THE AMBULANCE 

"Two rows of cabbages, 
Two of curly-greens, 
Two rows of early peas, 
Two of kidney-beans." 

That's what he is muttering, 
Making such a song, 
Keeping other chaps awake, 
The whole night long. 

Both his legs are shot away, 
And his head is light; 
So he keeps on muttering 
All the blessed night. 

[20] 



HILL-BORN 



"Two rows of cabbages, 
Two of curly-greens, 
Two rows of early peas, 
Two of kidney-beans." 



HILL-BORN 

I sometimes wonder if it's really true 

I ever knew 

Another life 

Than this unending strife 

With unseen enemies in lowland mud, 

And wonder if my blood 

Thrilled ever to the tune 

Of clean winds blowing through an April noon 

Mile after sunny mile 

On the green ridges of the Windy Gile. 

[211 



BATTLE 



THE FATHER 

That was his sort. 
It didn't matter 
What we were at 
But he must chatter 
Of this and that 
His little son 
Had said and done: 
Till, as he told 
The fiftieth time 
Without a change 
How three-year-old 
Prattled a rhyme, 
They got the range 
And cut him short. 

[22] 



THE REEK 



THE REEK 

To-night they're sitting by the peat 
Talking of me, I know — 
Grandfather in the ingle-seat, 
Mother and Meg and Joe. 

I feel a sudden puff of heat 
That sets my ears aglow, 
And smell the reek of burning peat 
Across the Belgian snow. 



[231 



BATTLE 



NIGHTMARE 

They gave him a shilling, 
They gave him a gun, 
And so he's gone killing 
The Germans, my son. 

I dream of that shilling — 
I dream of that gun — 
And it's they that are killing 
The boy who's my son. 



[24] 



COMRADES 



COMRADES 

As I was marching in Flanders 
A ghost kept step with me — 
Kept step with me and chuckled 
And muttered ceaselessly: 

"Once I too marched in Flanders, 
The very spit of you, 
And just a hundred years since, 
To fall at Waterloo. 

"They buried me in Flanders 
Upon the field of blood, 
And long I've lain forgotten 
Deep in the Flemish mud. 



BATTLE 

"But now you march in Flanders, 
The very spit of me; 
To the ending of the day's march 
I'll bear you company." 



THE LARK 

A lull in the racket and brattle, 

And a lark soars into the light — 

And its song seems the voice of the light 

Quelling the voices of night 

And the shattering fury of battle. 

But again the fury of battle 
Breaks out, and he drops from the height- 
Dead as a stone from the height — 
Drops dead, and the voice of the light 

Is drowned in the shattering brattle. 

[26] 



THE VOW 



THE VOW 

Does he ever remember, 
The lad that I knew, 
That night in September 
He vowed to be true — 

Does he hear my heart crying 
And fighting for breath 
In the land where he's lying 
As quiet as death? 



[27] 



BATTLE 



MANGEL-WURZELS 

Last year I was hoeing, 

Hoeing mangel- wurzels, 

Hoeing mangel-wurzels all day in the sun, 

Hoeing for the squire 

Down in Gloucestershire 

Willy-nilly till the sweaty job was done. 

Now I'm in the 'wurzels, 

In the mangel-wurzels, 

All day in the 'wurzels 'neath the Belgian 

sun. 
But among this little lot 
It's a different job I've got — 
For you don't hoe mangel-wurzels with a 

gun. 

[281 



HIS FATHER 



HIS FATHER 

I quite forgot to put the spigot in. 
It's just come over me. . . . And it is queer 
To think he'll not care if we lose or win 
And yet be jumping-mad about that beer. 

I left it running full. He must have said 
A thing or two. I'd give my stripes to hear 
What he will say if I'm reported dead 
Before he gets me told about that beer ! 



[29] 



BATTLE 



HIT 

Out of the sparkling sea 

I drew my tingling body clear, and lay 

On a low ledge the livelong summer day, 

Basking, and watching lazily 

White sails in Falmouth Bay. 

My body seemed to burn 

Salt in the sun that drenched it through and 

through 
Till every particle glowed clean and new 
And slowly seemed to turn 
To lucent amber in a world of blue. . . . 



[301 



BACK 

I felt a sudden wrench — 

A trickle of warm blood — 

And found that I was sprawling in the mud 

Among the dead men in the trench. 

BACK 

They ask me where I've been, 
And what I've done and seen. 
But what can I reply 
Who know it wasn't I, 
But someone just like me, 
Who went across the sea 
And with my head and hands 
Killed men in foreign lands. . . . 
Though I must bear the blame 
Because he bore my name. 

[31] 



BATTLE 



HIS MATE 

"Hi-diddle-diddle 

The cat and the fiddle" . . . 

I raised my head, 

And saw him seated on a heap of dead, 

Yelling the nursery-tune, 

Grimacing at the moon. . . . 

"And the cow jumped over the moon. 
The little dog laughed to see such sport 
And the dish ran away with the spoon." 

And, as he stopt to snigger, 
I struggled to my knees and pulled the 
trigger. 

[32] 



THE DANCERS 



THE DANCERS 

All day beneath the hurtling shells 
Before my burning eyes 
Hover the dainty demoiselles — 
The peacock dragon-flies. 

Unceasingly they dart and glance 
Above the stagnant stream — 
And I am fighting here in France 
As in a senseless dream — 

A dream of shattering black shells 
That hurtle overhead, 
And dainty dancing demoiselles 
Above the dreamless dead. 



[33] 



BATTLE 



THE JOKE 

He'd even have his joke 
While we were sitting tight, 
And so he needs must poke 
His silly head in sight 
To whisper some new jest 
Chortling, but as he spoke 
A rifle cracked. . . . 

And now God knows when I shall hear the 
rest! 



[341 



CHERRIES 



CHERRIES 

A handful of cherries 
She gave me in passing, 
The wizened old woman, 
And wished me good luck— 

And again I was dreaming, 
A boy in the sunshine, 
And life but an orchard 
Of cherries to pluck. 



135] 



BATTLE 



THE HOUSEWIFE 

She must go back, she said, 

Because she'd not had time to make the bed. 

We'd hurried her away 

So roughly . . . and, for all that we could 

say, 
She broke from us, and passed 
Into the night, shells falling thick and fast. 



[36] 



VICTORY 



VICTORY 

I watched it oozing quietly 
Out of the gaping gash. 
The lads thrust on to victory 
With lunge and curse and crash. 

Half -dazed, that uproar seemed to me 

Like some old battle-sound 

Heard long ago, as quietly 

His blood soaked in the ground. 

The lads thrust on to victory 
With lunge and crash and shout. 
I lay and watched, as quietly 
His life was running out. 



[37] 



BATTLE 



THE MESSAGES 

"I cannot quite remember. . . . There were 

five 
Dropt dead beside me in the trench — and 

three 
Whispered their dying messages to me. ..." 

Back from the trenches, more dead than 

alive, 
Stone-deaf and dazed, and with a broken 

knee, 
He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly: 

"I cannot quite remember. . . . There were 

five 

Dropt dead beside me in the trench, and three 

Whispered their dying messages to me. . . . 

F381 



THE MESSAGES 



"Their friends are waiting, wondering how 

they thrive — 
Waiting a word in silence patiently. . . . 
But what they said, or who their friends 

may be 

"I cannot quite remember. . . . There were 

five 
Dropt dead beside me in the trench, — and 

three 
Whispered their dying messages to me. ..." 



[39] 



BATTLE 



THE QUIET 

I could not understand the sudden quiet — 
The sudden darkness — in the crash of fight, 
The din and glare of day quenched in a 

twinkling 
In utter starless night. 

I lay an age and idly gazed at nothing, 
Half -puzzled that I could not lift my head; 
And then I knew somehow that I was lying 
Among the other dead. 



[401 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



BETWEEN THE LINES 

When consciousness came back, he found 

he lay 
Between the opposing fires, but could not 

tell 
On which hand were his friends; and either 

way 
For him to turn was chancey — bullet and 

shell 
Whistling and shrieking over him, as the 

glare 
Of searchlights scoured the darkness to blind 

day. 
He scrambled to his hands and knees ascare, 
Dragging his wounded foot through puddled 

clay, 

[41] 



BATTLE 

And tumbled in a hole a shell had scooped 

At random in a turnip-field between 

The unseen trenches where the foes lay 

cooped 
Through that unending battle of unseen 
Dead-locked league-stretching armies; and 

quite spent 
He rolled upon his back within the pit, 
And lay secure, thinking of all it meant — 
His lying in that little hole, sore hit, 
But living, while across the starry sky 
Shrapnel and shell went screeching over- 
head — 
Of all it meant that he, Tom Dodd, should lie 
Among the Belgian turnips, while his bed. . . . 

If it were he, indeed, who'd climbed each 

night, 

[42] 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



Fagged with the day's work, up the narrow 

stair, 
And slipt his clothes off in the candle-light, 
Too tired to fold them neatly on a chair 
The way his mother'd taught him — too dog- 
tired 
After the long day's serving in the shop, 
Inquiring what each customer required, 
Politely talking weather, fit to drop. . . . 

And now for fourteen days and nights, at least, 
He hadn't had his clothes off; and had lain 
In muddy trenches, napping like a beast 
With one eye open, under sun and rain 
And that unceasing hell-fire. . . . 

It was strange 
How things turned out — the chances! You'd 

just got 

[43] 



BATTLE 

To take your luck in life, you couldn't 
change 

Your luck. 

And so here he was lying shot 

Who just six months ago had thought to 
spend 

His days behind a counter. Still, per- 
haps. . . . 

And now, God only knew how he would end! 

He'd like to know how many of the chaps 
Had won back to the trench alive, when he 
Had fallen wounded and been left for dead. 
If any! . . . 

This was different, certainly, 
From selling knots of tape and reels of thread 
And knots of tape and reels of thread and 

knots 

[44 1 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



Of tape and reels of thread and knots of 

tape, 
Day in, day out, and answering "Have you 

got's" 
And "Do you keep's," till there seemed no 

escape 
From everlasting serving in a shop, 
Inquiring what each customer required, 
Politely talking weather, fit to drop, 
With swollen ankles, tired. . . . 

But he was tired 
Now. Every bone was aching, and had 

ached 
For fourteen days and nights in that wet 

trench — 
Just duller when he slept than when he 

waked — 

Crouching for shelter from the steady drench 

[45] 



BATTLE 

Of shell and shrapnel. . . . 

That old trench, it seemed 
Almost like home to him. He'd slept and 

fed 
And sung and smoked in it, while shrapnel 

screamed 
And shells went whining harmless overhead — 
Harmless, at least, as far as he. . . . 

But Dick- 
Dick hadn't found them harmless yesterday, 
At breakfast, when he'd said he couldn't 

stick 
Eating dry bread, and crawled out the back 

way, 
And brought them butter in a lordly dish — 
Butter enough for all, and held it high, 
Yellow and fresh and clean as you could 

wish — 

[46] 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



When plump upon the plate from out the 

sky 
A shell fell bursting. . . . Where the butter 

went, 
God only knew! . . . 

And Dick. ... He dared not think 
Of what had come to Dick ... or what it 

meant — 
The shrieking and the whistling and the 

stink 
He'd lived in fourteen days and nights. 

'Twas luck 
That he still lived. . . . And queer how 

little then 
He seemed to care that Dick. . . . Perhaps 

'twas pluck 
That hardened him — a man among the 

men — ■ 

1471 



BATTLE 

Perhaps. . . . Yet, only think things out a 

bit. 
And he was rabbit-livered, blue with funk! 
And he'd liked Dick . . . and yet when 

Dick was hit, 
He hadn't turned a hair. The meanest 

skunk 
He should have thought would feel it when 

his mate 
Was blown to smithereens — Dick, proud as 

Punch, 
Grinning like sin, and holding up the plate — 
But he had gone on munching his dry hunch, 
Unwinking, till he swallowed the last crumb. 

Perhaps 'twas just because he dared not let 
His mind run upon Dick, who'd been his 

chum. 

[481 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



He dared not now, though he could not 
forget. 

Dick took his luck. And, life or death, 

'twas luck 
From first to last; and you'd just got to trust 
Your luck and grin. It wasn't so much 

pluck 
As knowing that you'd got to, when needs 

must, 
And better to die grinning. . . . 

Quiet now 
Had fallen on the night. On either hand 
The guns were quiet. Cool upon his brow 
The quiet darkness brooded, as he scanned 
The starry sky. He'd never seen before 
So many stars. Although, of course, he'd 

known 

[491 



BATTLE 

That there were stars, somehow before the 

war 
He'd never realized them — so thick-sown, 
Millions and millions. Serving in the shop, 
Stars didn't count for much; and then at 

nights 
Strolling the pavements, dull and fit to drop, 
You didn't see much but the city lights. 
He'd never in his life seen so much sky 
As he'd seen this last fortnight. It was queer 
The things war taught you. He'd a mind 

to try 
To count the stars — they shone so bright 

and clear. 
One, two, three, four. . . . Ah, God, but he 

was tired. . . . 
Five, six, seven, eight. . . . 

Yes: it was number eight. 

[501 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



And what was the next thing that she re- 
quired? 
(Too bad of customers to come so late, 
At closing-time!) Again within the shop 
He handled knots of tape and reels of thread, 
Politely talking weather, fit to drop. . . . 

When once again the whole sky overhead 

Flared blind with search lights, and the shriek 
of shell 

And scream of shrapnel roused him. Drow- 
sily 

He stared about him wondering. Then he 
fell 

Into deep dreamless slumber. 



He could see 

51] 



BATTLE 

Two dark eyes peeping at him, ere he knew 

He was awake, and it again was day — 

An August morning burning to clear blue. 

The frightened rabbit scuttled. . . . 

Far away, 

A sound of firing. . . . Up there, in the sky 

Big dragon-flies hung hovering. . . . Snow- 
balls burst 

About them. . . . 

Flies and snowballs! With a cry 

He crouched to watch the airmen pass — the 
first 

That he'd seen under fire. Lord, that was 
pluck — 

Shells bursting all about them — and what 
nerve! 

They took their chance, and trusted to their 

luck. 

[521 



BETWEEN THE LINES 



At such a dizzy height to dip and swerve, 

Dodging the shell-fire. . . . 

Hell! but one was hit, 

And tumbling like a pigeon plump. . . . 

Thank Heaven, 

It righted, and then turned; and after it 

The whole flock followed safe — four, five, 
six, seven, 

Yes, they were all there safe. He hoped 
they'd win 

Back to their lines in safety. They de- 
served, 

Even if they were Germans. . . . 'Twas no 
sin 

To wish them luck. Think how that beggar 
swerved 

Just in the nick of time! 

He, too, must try 



53] 



BATTLE 

To win back to the lines, though, likely as 

not, 
He'd take the wrong turn: but he couldn't 

lie 
Forever in that hungry hole and rot. 
He'd got to take his luck, to take his chance 
Of being sniped by foes or friends. He'd 

be 
With any luck in Germany or France 
Or kingdom-come, next morning. . . . 

Drearily 
The blazing day burnt over him. Shot and 

shell 
Whistling and whining ceaselessly. But 

light 
Faded at last, and as the darkness fell 
He rose, and crawled away into the night. 

Printed in the United States of America. 

[541 



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